


Over the Centuries

by lilasmysteries



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Historical Inaccuracy, Love, M/M, Uhm, a girl can hope, although i do believe you might find my writing somewhat easy on the eyes?, boyslove, but i'm not good at that sorry, bye!, i am such a horrible person, i mean relentless okay?, i should, i suppose i should write something really witty so you'll want to read my fic, if enough people hate me after this i will rewrite it, larry stylinson - Freeform, lots of those heh, reincarnated!Harry, uhhm, vicious endeing, yeah okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilasmysteries/pseuds/lilasmysteries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot can be said about time. There are many people complaining they don’t have enough of it. Sometimes they do and that’s when they complain they’ve got too much time and too little to do. Time can certainly be an agonising experience, if you never die.  <br/>   “Look deep into my eyes, what do you see?”          <br/>  Harry had lived a reasonably uneventful life; baking, meeting friends, occasionally kissing the top of a bottle or two. Nothing exciting ever happened to him. Isn’t that how a lot of stories start? Then you might know what’ll happen next. Indeed, queue the handsome stranger entering Harry’s bakery, a man who’ll turn worlds upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Octobermist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octobermist/gifts).



_The world._   
_It is quite big,_   
_And quite beautiful._   
_It is hard to see every twig_

_From above where life is wonderful._   
_Once the great Nymphs blessed a boy,_   
_Marked him by their tongue._   
_Immortality is no toy,_   
_Learned the man who sprung._   
_For he fell in love with immortality's source,_   
_As of yet he did not know,_   
_The power of solitude's force_

_Or the slaughter that'd be his foe._

**The 27th of July, 1517**

**_T_** he pallid sunlight danced through the glass with the grace equivalent to the fingers of a virtuosic pianist, playing the artist's skin with temporary heat before ceasing; teasing with its pleasantness. The room was one of quite extraordinary character; it was round, spacious and open. All the walls were made out of thin glass, designed specifically for the painter's benefit, allowing light to seep through from all angles. Every other glass party was hooked upon hinges, creating exits all around. Two parts stood ajar at the moment, letting the lilac's perfume reach the artist's nostrils and he sighed contentedly where he was laid upon the marble. He was surrounded by several scrolls of parchment, all scattered over the ivory floor. If one were to unroll them, one would find unfathomable talent sketched with skilful strokes over the paper, but for now, they simply laid along their creator in peace, slightly tremulous from the faint breeze. It had been quite recently that the young painter realised his desire for solitude, not feeling the longing for any company other than his own. He stopped painting people around the same time, also realising that a sitter was equivalent to company. Company spoke more often than not, and the topics were tedious more often than not. The young lad did not appreciate this factor. And besides, their faces never seemed to satisfy him; always some subtle feature missing. Frustrating, really.  
The reason behind his lying on the floor was simply because of the surprisingly hot weather. And right now, not even the marble could cool his overheated skin. He was at loss of what to do with himself, so he decided to take a walk down to the beach, in hope of having the ocean's chilly wind ruffle his hair. His glass studio was situated on a hill by the English coast and the beach was conveniently within walking distance.   
The change of air and scenery was quite refreshing. The crashing waves and the scent of salt attacked the artist's senses unmercifully, but the lad basked in it. He breathed in the sea and accepted it like it accepted him. He used to walk by the sea line when he was younger. Especially after big storms, as they often brought curious objects to the shore. He started to walk along it, reminiscing his youthful self with a small, rueful smile on his face. His father had often taken him to the ocean's edge, before he and the young lad's mother passed away. Life was not easy then. He inherited all the family's riches and was able to build the glass studio... but he'd much rather have a family than wealth. He had to raise himself and learn the world's ways without guidance and that certainly was not something he'd been ready for.   
The painter still wished every day that it would've played out differently. He still did not know why the men had barged into their home and slain his loved ones. It was quite some time ago and his memory wasn't all too clear. He remembered crying, and unwashed hands grabbing at his cheeks. It was all very fuzzy and he preferred not to think about it.  
The wind blew cold kisses down his exposed neck and he shivered slightly, earlier sweat completely forgotten. The air was crisp and a cloud had slid over the sand's expanse, painting it with its sombre shadow. The artist's mind was soon filled with thoughts of returning to his haven of glass. The grey light provided by a cloud had always been rather fascinating to recreate on a canvas, reckoned he.   
Just as the lad was about to turn around, he spotted something odd farther away, half hidden behind a couple of rock boulders. It looked like a piece of a boat but... no boat he'd ever seen had ever had legs. Inquisitive, he hurried over to investigate. When he came closer he was brought upon the realisation that there was a torso attached to the dodgy legs, lying behind the wreckage. And there on the damp sand, with parted lips the colour of crimson and sooty lashes fluttering was the face of a boy. A boy whose facial features all sat in the right places; every plane and curve, every depression and hue. The painter wanted to paint that face, over and over again. Until the sun's rays no longer reflected in his glass walls. He kneeled by the unconscious form and attempted to shake the lad awake; it took some time but eventually his eyes were revealed.  
And what brilliant eyes they were. Just as the rest of him, they had their fair share of magnificence with an ounce of secrecy embedded in the forest nuances of his irises.  
The odd thing was, instead of becoming wary of the foreign face, he simply smiled, appreciatively.

_The love that bloomed between these two lads had the power to stretch over centuries, and overcome petty matters such as death._


	2. Teil Eins

**_T_** he usual, frequent clouds passed leisurely, shielding the people from any possibility of a tan. The air of the town was tinted in a light grey veil, dusting its inhabitants' moods with ash. The streets often had a layer of liquid spread over the asphalt from last night's rainfall, but that being standard conditions, no one really noticed. And as it started like any other day, you'd think it would end like any other, also. Although, you'll find yourself terribly wrong by the completion of this story.

In the heart of Holmes Chapel, behind the glass windows of a small café, sat a middle aged woman by one of the few tables situated there. She was currently the only customer at Breakfast Salt. It was more of a bakery than a café, really. Mostly because the customers tended to pay for the bread and then leave; not many favoured to sit down and relax for a bit. At least not at Breakfast Salt. The woman's coffee had gone cold long ago but she was too deep in grading essays to notice the mundane factor. The bell above the door sounded softly in the homey space, beckoning the attention of the three people in the shop.

A man with surprisingly agreeable features stepped inside, shivering a tad from the temperature change. He surveyed the area and nodded towards the woman with a pleasant, greeting smile, before placing himself at the table opposite hers. She returned his smile before lowering her eyes to the school assignments in front of her. The man sighed as he let a bit of the tension in his shoulders release with a slacking of his muscles, easing his skin into the warmth of the atmosphere. He shrugged off his coat and laid it neatly over his worn satchel, the dark leather softened around the edges after decades of use.

In the kitchen a young baker slid a batch of yet-to-be loaves of apricot bread in the already heated oven. He had cared thoroughly for the dough and kneaded it with love; a warm sensation spread in his chest as he closed the oven around the lumps, pride filling him for having made them so perfectly.

"Love, would you mind tending to the customer? My hands are not the cleanest." Our young baker turned to look at his boss and only colleague; she stood there by the counter with her fingers pressed tightly around a piece of lemon.

"Of course, Felicity! One moment," he assured her as he reached for the notepad and pencil before exiting the kitchen. He approached the stranger at his table, noting that he did not recognise the man; probably his first time at the café. The man was reading an article in the newspaper he had splayed out on the wooden surface in front of him, too engrossed to fully perceive the baker's presence.

"Good afternoon! What can I get you, sir?"

The man's body went rigid, shock being an evident shade in the mix of colours. His eyes were still trained on the letter "B" of a particularly small headline, yet the shape and size of them had increased exceedingly. His gaze resembled that of a dead fish, glassily staring but unseeing. His head lifted slowly from facing the table to stare forward at the cinnamon buns in a basket by the counter.

"Um, sir? Are you alright? Can I help you?"

The stranger slowly pulled his eyes from the buns and settled them on the baker's face. His eyes were still wide and his jaw was hanging slack, too astounded to control his facial muscles.

His jaw jerked slightly in hope of communication.

"...Harry?" The baker's name fell from the stranger's vocal chords in a strangled whisper and all the young baker could do was stare. Stare as if waiting for an elaboration of some sort. His brows furrowed in confusion. "Er, do we know each other?" His voice was uncertain.

Harry had never seen this man before. It seemed like the newcomer was trying to say something but couldn't get his lips around the words. His eyes were flitting constantly between the ones of Harry, drinking in their hues for all their worth.

The stranger rose from his seat quickly, to place his shaking hands upon Harry's cheeks, desperately cupping around his jawbone.

"You're here..." his voice was hoarse from wielding such deep emotion. "You're actually here, after all this time, all these years. I've missed you so."

"Um," Harry could feel the panic rising. "Sir, you must have gotten the wrong bloke. Who are you?" He could feel the lady's apprehensive gaze on them and wished it could all just not happen. Why him? Out of all the people in the world that could have walked through the door, it had to be a mental patient. Fantastic.

Something seemed to dawn upon the man's face as his features slacked into a blank expression. Albeit his eyes seemed to leak of how crestfallen he actually felt.

"Oh, er, I am quite sorry. To just barge- very rude of me, I apologise." He gathered his satchel and newspaper, readying his coat for the English weather outside. "I ought to leave," he spoke urgently, likely from embarrassment. And then he was out the door, tugging his collar up to shield his neck from the merciless wind.

Harry stood frozen by the now vacant table, blinking at the wooden slate where the man had disappeared. His fingers clutched the notepad's paper tightly, tremulous, yet he paid no mind. All his thoughts danced around blue eyes and pretty hair, practically inhaling it all.

And it is upon this fateful encounter our story begins.


	3. Teil Zwei

**_WARNING:_ ** _There are Sweeney Todd spoilers in this chapter so if you were planning on seeing it, do it before you read this chapter. And if you don't care about that then just enjoy! c:_

**_I_** t was obvious that something was indeed bothering the baker; Zayn had stated this numerous times already. The past month had been... oddly empty for Harry. He was often in a trancelike state that he had difficulties shaking off. Sometimes he would forget to eat, other times he would sit for hours at night and stare at the silvery light from the moon; thinking. Always thinking. His friends were worried for him, but he hardly paid their concern any mind. It might have been deemed inconsiderate or downright mean, yet Harry could think of nothing else other than that man.

That man, who'd been so undeniably pretty and so undeniably peculiar it boggled Harry's mind to no end. But it wasn't just that. There was another reason he refused to leave the baker's thoughts. A reason Harry himself, couldn't place his finger upon. It was something in the movement of his eyes or the volume level of his voice that was compelling; in a way that called back to a memory long eradicated. But that made no sense either.

Neither did it help that the man's features plagued Harry's every dream, nor that Harry felt as if he could search through the whole town just to make the man tell him his name. And what he meant about what he'd said to him. It was all very confusing. Harry remained clueless for yet another two months.

In the crisp morning of March, the young baker drearily sauntered to the bakery in a coat he hadn't worn since Christmas. His excessively unhurried manner was due to the fact that he awoke much too early that day. He didn't mean to, it was just - the dreams hadn't stopped haunting him and now it was depriving him of his sleep. Maybe he ought to see a doctor. But what if it was really nothing and he'd just bother the doctor by booking a session. Then again, it is the doctor's job to treat people who _might_ be ill, too. So maybe he will see a doctor. He shielded his hands from the bitter cold by tucking them into his coat pockets where they encountered a pair of paper slips. Bewildered, he pinned them between the pads of his fingers and withdrew his hand.

"Oh, right! The tickets," he mumbled to himself, absentmindedly. When he'd celebrated last Christmas with his family, Robin had given him two tickets to a play. It was the musical of Sweeney Todd, they'd been advertising about it for nearly two weeks before they even released any of the tickets. He'd gotten the type where you book the seats online and everything is already paid, thanks to Robin - you just have to decide a date. Maybe he'd bring Zayn. He's caused him quite the amount of worry the previous months. He might decline though, since he had an eight-month pregnant Perrie on his sofa, but it is nice to make the offer nonetheless.

So when his friend arrived at Breakfast Salt to buy his usual morning coffee, Harry asked him if he was free that afternoon. With a bright smile and relieved laugh, Zayn accepted the offer. He must have been rather worried to do this with Harry under the conditions mentioned. Though, Harry could not help but feel elated with expectancy for the coming evening. He was actually looking forward to it. The feeling was rather nice.

~}{~

After paying for a program of the play to share between the two, the lads found their seats in the fourth row. Harry could tell by his friend's tense atmosphere that it was something Zayn wanted to say but hadn't figured out how to do that yet. So he sighed and broke the ice.

"Just spit out whatever you need to say, mate, however harsh or rude it may sound."

Zayn winced and his gaze flickered due to being caught. "Well, as you know, we've all been worried about you... and like, I don't want to pry in anything you want to keep to yourself but, well I want you to know that if you feel like talking-"

"Zayn, really, I'm fine-"

"Plus I'm dying of curiosity," Zayn said, looking a tad ashamed for admitting it. "Something must've happened - you've been acting a bit different and-"

"Alright, alright! I'll tell you. But not now and not here, okay? Maybe after the play?"

"Yeah, sure, that'd be great." Zayn's body had relaxed considerably and the crease between his brows had ceased. Harry smiled reassuringly at him just before the lights dimmed and the velvet curtain rolled up. The scene was foggy and grey, set for a story on the streets of London.

All the actors were great singers, their voices having a thick depth; pleasurable to listen to. When Sweeney Todd treaded the stage it was like the whole audience held its breath; anticipation pouring from the tense silence. This actor was a man with a striking fierceness, painted pale and wan for the role. Dark makeup covered the skin under man's eyes and his hair was rinsed with soot, making it look dirty and un-kept. Throughout the whole play, he never really looked at the audience; not when his figure crumbled to the ground with grief from hearing of his wife's poisoning, not when he triumphed over Pirelli and his talent with silver blades was once again recognised, and certainly not when Todd was raging with anger for having lost the chance of slicing the judge's throat... Except for the last scene, when he'd realised the lies Lovett had fed him and that the woman he had killed in his haste... actually was the faded image of his beautiful wife. This woman was a mere whisper of her former grace - like a flower withered to its foundations. The moment he realised he'd slain his Lucy, he fell to his knees beside her faint form, painted red by his hand. Then he met the gaze of the onlookers, and the oxygen around Harry failed to travel to his lungs. His eyes were a brilliant set of baby blues - the kind he'd seen before. The man was quivering from the well-acted sorrow he displayed, and the distress he expressed was so much more intense because it was the first time he fully revealed his eyes to the audience. Todd places his forehead against the forehead of his lifeless wife, singing softly in a tear-stained voice.

 _"A barber and his wife... and she was beau-tiful,"_ he turned his head toward the ceiling while Toby sneaked up behind him after the silver knife left on the floor. _"And he was... nai-ve-"_ The man was cut off by his own blade spilling his blood as Toby sliced his throat, silencing the man's miserable tune.

Harry stared with wide eyes as the blood dripped down his torso and Todd's blue eyes closed... as if they had now seen the world for the last time.

For the last time.

Seeing for the last time.

Blue eyes. Lifeless, vacant.

Heart. Never to beat again, never to swell with joy or ache with sadness.

Blood stains.

_Dead._

**_Permanent._ **

Gone forev-

_"LOUIS!"_


	4. Teil Drei

**_H_** _e was still; completely and utterly frozen in position. His behind was aching yet he dared not to move, not with the blue eyes fixated on him in such intense focus. His every breath felt like another sin as it stirred him slightly, and that way he could hardly suffice for his lover's brush and canvas. Harry felt inadequate under the man's gaze, unworthy of such divine observation. He frowned when he noticed how tense Harry was, laying down his paintbrush gracefully._

_"What is the matter, love?" He spoke daintily, approaching Harry with concern in his oceans._

_"Er, I just- I just don't understand- I apologise, I must be such a bother," Harry cast down his eyes, feeling ashamed of causing his love any trouble in his crafting. Harry knew how much concentration was essential in the creation of such masterpieces. Yet he still managed to ruin that rare focus. He was despicable._

_"What, no, Harry._ _Thou_ _mustn't_ _ever apologise to me. I can see when_ _thou art_ _sorry. It is all displayed in_ _thine_ _eyes,"_

_"But how can that be? How can one read emotions from another's eyes?"_

_"Why do_ _thou_ _not try it?"_

_"I doubt I will succeed."_

_"Try it," his lover smiled encouragingly, then gazed into Harry's unsure expression._

_"What do my eyes tell_ _thee_ _?"_

_For a long moment everything was silent, save their breathing and their hearts' beating. The look he received from his lover was intense and the beauty of his eyes made it hard for Harry to concentrate. It was determined, beautiful... and eager to convey?_

_"_ _Thou_ _want me to sit more still for_ _thy_ _painting?"_

_"What? No. Look deeper, love. What do_ _thou_ _see?"_

_Another long silence passed, this time it was amply charged, as Harry was making an effort to understand. He scrutinised every lash and every tense muscle around the pretty eyes, he searched deep in those oceans, set on tasting their depth, and let that pervade his very soul with love and joy._

_Harry, in that exact moment, realised something big, something wonderful. Harry's concentrated expression fell to the floor and crashed into a million pieces, leaving behind a face of disbelief and astonishment. His lover grinned in that way, the way Harry had become so infatuated with, and asked:_

_"What is it Harry? What do_ _thou_ _see?"_

_"_ _Thou_ _\- I see, see that_ _thou_ _-_ _thou_ _loveth_ _me,_ _thou_ _love_ _th_ _me, Louis!"_

Inhale.

The inside of Harry's eyelids were painted brightly red; strong lights shining on the other side. A frequent, insistent noise from a ventilation system and the ache of needles through skin.

Exhale.

He was regaining a type of consciousness of his surroundings; a certain awareness for every whiff of air he breathed.

Inhale.

His brows reached to hold hands with each other as pain made itself present in his skull's frontal area. He groaned softly in the plastic air, readying his eyes for opening.

"About time, mate. You were out for almost three hours."

The first thing that greeted his droopy eyes was the faded image of a pretty man.

"Louis?"

His voice rasped uncomfortably in his own ears, making him cringe in sympathy for the man listening. Though he simply smiled at Harry, nothing but a calm joy shining through.

"Ugh, what- what happened? Why are you here?" Harry cupped his skull in his palms, trying to rid it of the light throbbing. If he had been in less pain, he'd express the full extent of his surprise of the man's presence.

"Oh, I thought I'd stop by, apologise for that time at the bakery," he spoke, sweet as honey and clear as water. When Harry remained silently staring, he continued. "As you know now, I'm an actor and, well- I lost a bet to my friends so they forced me to act out a dramatic scene for you - as forfeit. I'm sorry it was you, because really, it could've happened to anyone and I just- I'm sorry we bothered you."

Harry was unsure as how he ought to reply.

"Oh."

The awkward moment, however, was fortunately killed by a doctor in a white coat with a chart in his hand.

"So, Mr Styles, how are you feeling now that you've woken up?" he said with a charming smile as he entered.

"Just dandy," Harry answered dryly. "M'head hurts a tad."

"We can fix that easily, Mr Styles," his voice sounded slightly eager and for a moment his eyes seemed to gleam. "If you'll just roll up your sleeve, I'll give you the shot."

Harry frowned but did as told while the doctor prepared a quite large needle for the injection. He gulped but presented his arm bravely. And the doctor glanced at it but-

"Oh no, sir. Your other arm."

So Harry rolled up his other sleeve, his heart beating faster by the second. The doctor took a hold of his arm - a bit painfully, in Harry's opinion - and stroked the odd birthmarks scattered there among the tattoos. Just as he brought the needle up-

"Harry, _no!_ "

Suddenly Louis sprang up from his chair and knocked over the doctor, splattering whatever serum was in that glass cylinder, all over the plastic floor. He then pulled his sleeves over his palms and grabbed the chair he'd been sitting on; hit the newly risen doctor in the head before throwing it to the floor beside the now unconscious man. Harry was perfectly flabbergasted and wanted nothing more than to call the police.

"Harry, come with me now, please, before someone else finds you!"

But the pleading blue oceans where enough to make him burn all his common sense. Louis grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the hospital room. But as soon as they were out of that door he suddenly slowed down and walked in a somewhat calm pace, forcing Harry to do the same to not attract any unwelcome attention. So they _calmly_ went through all the white halls and corridors before they could exit the building. There, out on the street, Harry thought he was on his way to his flat finally, but no. Louis refused to let go of him and despite Harry's protests, he led them away to a grey, inconspicuous car.

"Get in," he said. And, naturally, that made Harry feel _very safe._

"Yeah, sure. That's what I always do; jump into the cars of strangers."

"Harry, I suggest you don't argue with me right now. Soon the staff will notice a patient has gone missing and you need to be far away from here by then."

"Wha-why? And how far would that be?"

"Well, preferably out of the country but I think the coast will do."

"Out of the country? Out of the _fucking country_?!"

"Harry, please lower your voice _and get in the damned car_ ," he hissed.

"Only if you'll drive me to my flat; where I will stay." Harry didn't have to do anything this short - _yet pretty_ \- man told him to do.

"Sure! As long as you seat yourself _now_."

And with that, Harry complied.

The ride was quiet apart from the insistent traffic noise and Harry thought he maybe ought to say something. This man didn't know the address to his flat, he could point that out for starters. Or maybe he should open with something else, er- maybe the man's name? Harry'd come to call him _Louis_ , however he was still unaware of what his real name could be.

So he cleared his throat and he had to refrain from cringing as it was on an entirely new level of awkward. "Um, so what- er, what is your name?"

"You called me Louis earlier, you can continue with that. In fact, Louis is what people used to call me. Now it's usually just Will."

"Oh."

"Well, we're here now," Louis mumbled for any listening ears.

Our baker looked up at his surroundings, astonished.

"Hey! How do you know where I live?" he shouted as they both deserted the car and headed for the building.

 _Something's seriously not right here_.

"I know a lot of things," the stranger answered, more mystery than needed, in Harry's opinion. He fought a shiver. As they climbed the stairs Harry thought it a tad off that Louis hadn't drove away yet, that he had instead followed Harry to his door. After he'd unlocked it with the keys from his jeans' pocket, he turned around to take farewell of his recent acquaintance. But Louis ignored the younger lad and walked, unwelcome, into the flat, looking around before diving into Harry's bedroom. Harry ran after him and found Louis packing a duffle bag he'd found under the bed. "Pack everything you need and everything you hold dear," the older lad spoke urgently.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Harry exclaimed. "Where are you taking all of this?"

Louis looked up from the duffle bag and stared Harry in the face.

"To the coast, Harry, where you will be staying."


	5. Teil Vier

**_A_** lot happened, okay? Harry was beyond exhausted and he hadn't been to the gym in some time. Besides, he hadn't even gotten that much sleep the last two months because _Louis_ had thought it fun to play that prank on him. Okay, he was kinda forced to it but that tiny factor does not have its accommodation in this argumentation. So, anyway. Sleep deprivation clouds one's judgment and responsibility. Also, at times, one's memory. So it is highly plausible for Harry to have _forgotten_ Perrie's being pregnant and _miss judged_ Louis' strength and ability to persuade. He'd gotten a text from Zayn earlier, about not being by Harry's side because Perrie's water broke. And Harry understood that, of course, but when sitting in the car of his abductor taking him away from any contact with civilisation, naturally he'd be a little less understanding. But before he could reply, _someone_ had snatched his phone away. And now it is on the pavement of the highway, shattered in a million pieces.

But what does it matter now? He's as good as dead anyway.

Yet he feels a certain need to at least tell his best friend a goodbye. A farewell in case this is a life long separation. They had been driving for three hours in silence when Harry finally swallows his stubbornness.

"Can I ask something of you?" through loosely clenched teeth.

"What?"

"Could I please just make a call and tell Zayn a consoling lie, so he doesn't worry himself out of his mind? His girlfriend is giving birth to his child so he'd probably appreciate the peace of having solely one thing to focus on right now," Harry motivated, peeking at the slack face of his driver.

"No." Simple and clear, without even a glance in Harry's direction. Charming. He didn't want to beg.

"Come on, Louis. Please? He's my only friend. Don't be so heartless," he prompted.

"The answer's still no."

"Okay, fine whatever," Harry curled up his legs and turned his back towards the driver, peeking trough the window with an angry, petulant pout to finish the look off. The silence that followed thereafter was quite uncomfortable but neither of the lads commented on it.

Harry did have a lot of questions, of course, but he felt conflicted on exactly how to ask them. He wanted to know several things, like: why Louis had been the one to stay with him until he woke, why Harry had somehow known Louis' name, who the man posing as a doctor was, why Louis had attacked him, what kind of mental disorder Louis has and why he is not in some high secured facility and the most important question: what the _hell_ was the purpose of kidnapping Harry?

Eventually the car stopped and Harry jolted awake, sighing, relieved as he realised they'd finally stopped. And as it seemed it wasn't to go to the loo. Louis exited the car and rounded it to open the trunk. Harry stared around himself in amazement while climbing out of the vehicle. They had driven atop a hill of green. It wasn't the type of green that looked artificial, it was just a natural beautiful green. Along the hill was a wide path of dirt; an unpaved road which Harry assumed was where they'd come from. This path lead up to a homey cabin of sea-kissed rocks. It had a hammock hanging from the ceiling above the narrow porch. Long and thin straws of grass grew on the roof, and Harry could cry because of its cuteness. But he didn't. He couldn't let his _kidnapper_ know- even _suspect_ that he enjoyed any of this.

Beyond the cabin of stone was a rounded globe? It was dark yet it gleamed as if made of glass. Forged from even pieces that made the sun's rays scatter. Not unlike that of disco ball. The whole shape of it looked like the upper body of R2D2. A cylindrical form with a hemisphere atop it. A dome? Harry wondered what gave it its sombre shade.

He was knocked to the ground by his duffle bag as it was slung at his head.

"Come now, Curly. Can't afford to stand here, out in the open, exposed to all," Louis said, off-handedly as he ushered Harry toward the door. "Your being a 'missing person' and my being the faceless kidnapper and all that..." the older man muttered on without much attention paid to his own words. The inside looked slightly old fashioned, but still with a genuine cosy feel. The wooden construction of the double bed looked like something out of the scenes of Game of Thrones, yet the mattresses and sheets looked new and bought at Ikea only a month prior. The bed stood against one wall of the sole room this cabin contained, a white-painted bedstand beside it. Atop that stood a reading lamp, turned off as it was't needed while the sun would still glimmer through the window; golden as it danced coyly with the pale, translucent curtains. Next to the window a giant and wide wardrobe was placed. And on top of it, in the shadows crowding around the ceiling corners, was a dusty chest. Crammed in the corner between the wardrobe and an the stone wall were several canvases, tightly put together and shielding their art from view. Opposite that, at the foot of the bed frame, was a mighty bookshelf in a deep mahogany. On the shelves, Harry spotted several historical masterpieces in the literary field, such as Shakespeare, Wilde, Poe, Austen. And next to those were the works of Rowling, Tolkein. Harry could've sworn he also saw The Hunger Games among the hard bound backs. As the lad stepped inside he also noticed that the entire stone floor had been matted with a woolen carpet. Harry just wanted to lie down and cuddle the floor - which he could not, so he restrained that and any further odd desires.

There had passed a silence where the younger had simply stared and interpreted, while the older watched every quiver in the muscles surrounding Harry's eyes as he drank in the place that held so much significance. Louis was practically holding his breath. As Harry came to the realisation of the time spent quiet he cleared his throat awkwardly and uttered a wavering:

"Neat."

Louis seemed pleased. "Isn't it?" He stepped around Harry and walked forward to the door-shaped hole across from the main entrance, next to the double bed. "So... this is the kitchen. 'S really not much but," Louis shrugged. Harry followed him through the doorway. In front of him was a stoned narrow staircase the lead up to a door of wood. To his right was another door. He took a left turn to be met by sight of Louis standing in the tiniest kitchen he'd ever seen. It was enough to cook in, he supposed. "And opposite here is the bathroom. Also quite small I apologise." Harry looked behind himself and acknowledged that door as the loo. "And right now there isn't much to eat. I'll have to go grocery shopping, but- oh, nice there's tea. I suppose one can't live on-"

"Louis, can we talk?" Harry cut him off and halted Louis' rummaging through cabinets. "Seriously, okay? I'm really confused and scared and I'm not really sure what to make of you so... please?"

Louis sighed because he knew this conversation was bound to happen. "Let's put the kettle on then, and sit on the porch?"

Harry nodded, relieved and thankful. He walked back to the main room where he dumped his duffle bag before he continued to the hammock. A few minutes later Louis returned with two cups of steaming brew. One he handed to Harry and the other he cradled as he sat down on the floor. He took a sip before realising it was very much too hot still. So he just placed it in front of him and clasped his hands as he looked up at Harry and Harry was again caged by his oceans.

"What do you want to know furthermost? I will have to go shopping soon, before the sun sets so I'm sorry but I only have time for one question I'm afraid. So think a little before you ask."

Harry didn't think for very long.

"Why'd you kidnap me? I really don't understand it. You risked so much doing that and now people are out searching for me. I assume you did it because of that faux doctor you attacked but we could've just called the police and reported him."

"I took you away for your own safety, Harry. That man wanted to confirm that you were the lad he sought. That's why he asked to see your other arm, because of the markings there. The serum he was about to give you wouldn't effect you at once, it takes a few hours. That's also why he thought it was alright even if there was a witness. Because there was nothing to see at the time. And it wouldn't matter if the police arrested this one bloke. There are others out there, working for the same cause as he. And they are after you, Harry."

 _"And they are after you, Harry,"_ was the insistent echo whispered over a thousand times in his mind as Harry watched Louis car drive away in the setting sun.


	6. Teil Fünf

**_A_** _s_ Harry waited for Louis to return, he thought he'd settle in a bit more. He started by opening the wardrobe, thinking he could place his clothes on the shelves or something. Yet there was very little room inside for clothes, as all sorts of knick-knacks that are usually found at your grandparents' house. Harry wondered where Louis had gotten all this stuff. He hung his shirts there and thought he'd just ask Louis where he could put his things later.  
Harry pulled out his laptop from where he'd packed it in the rucksack Louis had unloaded from the car. While he understood that he couldn't browse the internet he figured watching a film couldn't do much harm. He'd downloaded a couple of random films without much thought some months ago and he decided that now was the perfect time for mindless movie-watching. He selected one without looking at the title and ended up with a very uneventful film. The dialogs were certainly interesting but it in itself couldn't even keep him awake. And he fell asleep with the laptop heating his stomach, laying spread over the covers.

Panic and distress took over him completely as he fought against the restraints around his wrists and ankles, tying him to the chair. He'd scream if it wasn't for the thick tape over his lips, silencing his despair. Tears splashed when he blinked to see through them.  
The walls were rounded and made of glass. Three men with massive builds and guns.  
Perrie was on the floor with an infant by her side, lifeless in the mix of their blood.

The world seemed so small and unfair. Yet so vast as he hadn't seen enough of it in his young years. Harry stood before the noose hanging in front of his face. And beyond he saw the villagers, staring back with hatred. They had been like family to him all his life, and now they only offered him their spit on his shoes.

The man who had shot Perrie and her child now walked, gun in hand, over to the child's father and pressed the barrel's end against the tanned skin under his jawbone. Zayn looked dead already. His soul perished when the trigger was pulled on his love and child. But Harry tried to shout through the tape but only muffled sounds were audible. The man laughed as he splattered brains and laughed when Harry fought and cried.

The noose was brought over his head and tightened around his neck. He made sure to look his _family_ in the eye, pierce them with his greens, until his eyes wouldn't see anymore. He drew a deep, appreciative breath. As he knew it was his last.  
And then the wooden floor of the platform vanished beneath his feet.

The man, whose face had droplets of Zayn's blood on his cheek placed his gun upon the marble floor and picked up a dagger with an exceptionally broad blade. He swung it at Louis' throat and Louis' blue eyes were earnest as he mouthed _"Sorry"_ before the blade hit its mark and Harry sat up erratically in the cabin's bed, sweating and panicky. It was dark and he couldn't see much at all. It didn't do him any favours as he stumbled over a wide lump and fell mercilessly to the carpeted floor while on his way to the kitchen. At least the matt softened the impact. A loud groan echoed in the silence from where Harry had fallen, and for a moment panic rose in his throat only to be suppressed by the realisation of having had fallen over a sleeping Louis on the floor. No longer sleeping, the disoriented man ruffled his hair and squinted into the dark abyss.

  
"Harry?" he whispered cautiously, and the younger sensed some suspicion in his voice. 

"Yeah?" Harry croaked, cringing at his own sleep drowned voice.

"Wha' are ye doin'? Louis slurred, now relaxed as he had confirmed his attacker's identity. He sounded concerned though, as it was in the middle of the night and Harry was wandering about. He reached for the bedside lamp suddenly, as if realising something. When artificial light hit their faces and Louis worried expression was revealed to Harry, the younger frowned at the tenseness to his posture.

"You-you weren't..." Louis spoke, sounding as strained as he looked worried. "You weren't about to escape... were you? Because I would've understood if you did, I mean, I was pretty surprised you were still here when I returned, seeing as I never locked the door."

The older lad swallowed. There was something about it, his wide eyes and wavering tone. Harry hadn't really thought of leaving, even though he now realised he could have all along. Why hadn't he locked the door? Louis was his captor after all. "I didn't leave because, well... because I trust you. Deep down I trust you. I trust you even when I know it isn't rational and I shouldn't..."

Louis chest swelled with an unknown emotion. Maybe pride, maybe affection. He wasn't sure. And he wasn't sure what compelled him to reach out and fold his fingers around Harry's, but the warmth he felt spread through his skin was worth all the embarrassment or complications that would follow. He was overcome with joy because Harry was still _Harry_ for he trusted Louis. The younger lad's cheeks heated a tad as he stared at their hands. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and said:

"Actually I was heading to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, so..." He removed his hand and exited the sleeping/living room before the air would get too uncomfortable.

He grabbed a glass from the only cupboard in the small space. He opened the tap and poured water into it. After taking a few gulps of the fluid he stood, leaning against the narrow counter with his back facing the sink. His expression took on a forlorn personality as his thoughts wandered back to the vivid nightmare. His execution. Zayn's brains on a stranger's face. The beheading of Louis. Perrie's blood-

"Are you alright?" Louis halted his train of thought from where he was leaning against the doorframe and gesturing to Harry's shaking hand. Harry clutched the glass tighter to make it stop but it only succeeded in worsening. He was silent for a moment, considering giving Louis the standard _"I'm fine"_. But Harry honest so he spoke truthfully: "I-uh, I had a really bad dream and woke in cold sweat. It spooked me rather roughly, ha." He gave a small nervous laugh. Louis did not seem to find it amusing. He looked serious and concerned as he coaxed Harry to tell him what he dreamt. Harry agreed.

"It was all very confusing. First one of my friends dies the I was at an execution and then I watched the murder of my other friend. Then I was at the execution again, and all of it was really old fashioned. All the people who came to watch me hanged were wearing-

"It was _your_ execution?"

"Yeah, but everything was really old and- it was another time. Like, old British villages you see on the telly sometimes. All of it was so messed up because it kept mixing my old fashioned execution with the murder of my friends. Oh, and was all really vivid," Harry added.  
Louis looked thoughtful for a beat but then he flashed Harry a reassuring smile to ease his nerves. "Did you go to the loo before sleeping?" Harry shook his curls.

"Well I can guarantee that your nightmares won't return if you empty that bladder of yours." Louis smirked  
slightly before returning to his "bed" on the floor. Harry felt a tad better after unloading his horrors a bit. He swirled the remaining water around at the bottom, staring at it with vacant eyes. Then he drained it all in one chug. He did as Louis advised and took a piss. When he got back Louis had already turned the light off, so Harry had to guess where the other lad's feet were placed as he rounded the obstacle to crawl between the sheets from the foot of the bed. Once comfortable and relaxed, Harry felt the eerie silence seep into his skin. He shivered slightly and goosebumps erupted over his shoulders and arms. He wasn't cold, that wasn't it.

Harry was afraid. Of what? He wasn't sure: he knew his nightmares couldn't _hurt_ him. Yet he was frightened.

"Lou-Louis?"

"Yeah, love?"

"Eh, um, would you mind sleeping on the bed. I-I mean, it can't be comfy down there," Harry motivated.

"Nah, it's fine Harry, no need to worry, really," Louis reassured.

"But this is your place and you shouldn't be the one to get a mattress on the floor."

"Seriously, Harry, it's fine-"

"I'm still scared okay? Just please, lie down on the bed and shut up."

The older became silent at this, hearing the note of hysteria in Harry's desperate words.

"Alright, of course Harry," he mumbled as he climbed up from his mattress and claimed the left side of the bed. Harry was on his side facing the wall; protecting himself from the monsters that devoured his mind.

Just as the brunette closed his eyes for the night to take him once more: "Could I ask a favour of you? Please?"

"Hmm, what?"

"Could I please call Zayn in the morning and could you please talk to me?"

"Talk to you? What about?"

"Anything, just distract me please. You could tell me about yourself, your family, what happened to your brilliant Sweeney Todd performance which I ruined."

"Ah well, it was ruined - by you."

"Knobhead."

A small bubble of laughter passed Harry's lips before it died so Harry could listen. "Well, after you freaked out and fainted no actor could stay in character, though the audience dirt at first that you were part of the play and that it was all a huge twist of surprise. But when your mate panicked and called for help, people realised what was happening. Someone called and ambulance. I noticed that your mate, Zayn you said? was torn between going with you and something else, so I asked him what was wrong and he told me he'd just been informed of his girlfriend's water breaking and yeah, I eased his load by saying I'd go with you. The bloke was pretty relieved, poor sod."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being such a bother. I mostly want to apologise to Zayn, as I caused him the most stress." Harry's voice sounded small in the darkness.

"It'll be alright Harry, in the end. I'll let you call your mate in the morning. It was actually my surprise to you but you ruined it." Harry turned around at this and made a tiny squeal. "When I was at the supermarket I decided to buy you a disposable phone, meaning you may have one phone call. To say goodbye."

Sadness settled in Harry's heart.

"Will this be a goodbye for forever?" he whispered. Louis felt twisted with regret as he said: "I'm afraid it might very well be."

A silence passed then-

"Louis?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Why are there people after me? What do they want?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you until you are ready to hear it."

_And when might that be?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (~•_•)~
> 
> {A/N} oookay I don't usually write author's notes but I felt obligated to apologise for the outstanding crappieness of this chapter. to me it felt really long yet nothing really happened? omg sorry wow, such fail. please leave a comment to ease my mind and tell me if you thought that maybe it wasn't so bad? or be very honest and rip the band aid off instantly.
> 
> what do you think is Louis' deal? or Harry's? from what you've gathered, what has actually happened?
> 
> hope somebody enjoyed it xc
> 
> love,  
> Lila x
> 
> (~o_o)~


	7. Teil Sechs

**_H_** _arry_ woke to the chirping of birds and sunlight on the windowpane. The curtain ruffled slightly from a morning breeze. It was peaceful and warm, strong and safe. Louis' arms were loosely wrapped around Harry's middle and he was mumbling in his sleep. Harry panicked momentarily because he was at loss of what to do. He didn't want to be in Louis' arms, yet he knew it would be awkward if he tried to escape them and the other lad were to wake up. If only Louis had woken first. Ugh.

Therefore he laid still and pretended, so once Louis opened his eyes he could go and make breakfast or something, and they could just avoid a very embarrassing moment. Harry tried to relax, he really did, but it was rather difficult with his heart jumping around as it was.

He eventually dozed through the morning until Louis stirred by half ten. He moved his arm from Harry's body and placed it over his eyes as he heaved a deep sigh. He peered at the window from under his elbow and eyed a bird, where it pecked at the windowsill. Then he looked at Harry's sleeping face and smiled gently. He couldn't believe he had finally found the lad he'd missed for such a vast passage of time. Louis wanted to kiss him, but refrained as he had no idea how he was supposed to explain away something like that, if Harry were to wake. 

The younger was especially beautiful in this light. And not the usual crap about his shimmering eyelashes or the sunlight caught by his sleepy curls. In this light, Harry looked like he had escaped to another world. Not only did he look safe and protected, without any madmen after him, he also seemed strong, brave and exalted. Like he could take on the world and it'd be the easiest thing. He shone like a warrior and he wrapped Louis in his light. The brunette could literally stay like that forever, he was sure of it. But breakfast needed to be done so he reluctantly did not stay like that forever. He got up and went to the kitchen where he unloaded last night's grocery shopping on the floor. It consisted mostly of ready meals that were only in need of some heating. Louis... wasn't a very talented cook.

"What's all this?" came Harry's morning voice from the door when he saw all the packages spread about the kitchen floor.

"Uh, breakfast?" Louis felt like he'd been caught by a parent doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"But where are the things you bought yesterday? Eggs, milk, veggies? Healthy things?" Harry demanded.

"Well," Louis looked up at him sheepishly. "I'm not very good with those."

"But-but we can't eat these _things_ ," the younger of the two sat by the piles of cold meals and looked like he was about to cry. "Hey, hey. It's okay. I can buy those things next time I drive into town. Does that sound good?"

Harry looked like he'd been saved from sharks.

"Oh thank _god_ , because I'm eating none of that."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, you better hurry up. Before I starve please."

Louis gave him a blank look.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

"Ah well then. Okay wow. Could you at least eat one for breakfast?"

"Never in a million years."

 _I can wait_ , Louis thought.

"Alright, suit yourself. But I'm going to take one because I'm not leaving on an empty stomach."

Harry nodded, satisfied while Louis produced a cheap looking phone from the bag on his lap and handed it to Harry.

"Call your mate while I eat so I can dispose of it while I'm out. Who knows, maybe I'll run it over," Louis chuckled for himself.

Harry walked back to the living room as Louis started making a ruckus for his breakfast. Harry hastily pressed the digits of Zayn's phone number and put it to his ear. After two signals Zayn's tired voice answered.

"Zayn speaking."

"Hey, mate," Harry greeted, which okay, he could've done that better. Zayn freaked out and talked faster than Harry had ever heard. "OhmygodHarry! Where are you? Why did you leave? Are the police correct about your being kidnapped? And- ohmygoodness are you with your kidnapper right now? Please tell me how to find you, Harry, please."

"Hey, take it easy, sit down. I'm fine and I wasn't kidnapped, the police are wrong. I just wanted to get away and be on my own."

"How could you even afford that with your salary? Harry-"

"No, I'm not at aunt Alberta's."

"What?"

"Haha, how could you think _that_? I would never return to the Tsaoc, not after the Nancy-incident."

There was a pause.

"Fuck, you're with him right now aren't you? That's why you're talking shit?

"I'm not sure if I'll stay in one place for long. I've always wanted to travel the world and really, there's no time like the present. So, I'm truly sorry Zayn, but we most likely won't be seeing much of each other."

"You're lying about all that, right? You're kidding? Please, if you are, then congratulate me, for becoming a father. That won't seem too suspicious, right? Then I'll know."

"Congrats to the lovely child, Zayn! Wow, I can't believe you're a father now. What's his or her name?"

"I'll try to find you, Harry," Zayn's voice sounded frail but determined.

"Clara is a beautiful name. I hope I'll see her one day. Maybe when I've finally said I've seen enough of the world. Goodbye Zayn."

Harry hung up before his mate had a chance to reply. He sighed deeply and slouched his shoulders, relaxing them from their earlier tense pose.

"That was very brave, Harry, I'm proud of you. You just saved Zayn from getting caught up in all of this. Might've even saved his life, you know," Louis said from the door where he stood, eating heated soup. A large boulder sank to the bottom of Harry's stomach, and he felt certain it was his heart.


	8. Teil Seben

**_Z_** _ayn_ didn't come and save him, as Harry had hoped. But it turned out alright because as Harry soon figured out, Louis was a rather nice bloke. He'd had a rough past. His family had been murdered when he was about fourteen. And he had built this hideout with his inheritance. His parents must have been really rich, thought Harry. He also thought it was weird that the government would let a fourteen-year-old inherit such ample amounts of money and live on his own. Don't orphans end up at orphanages? He didn't question it though, as so much about his abductor was mysterious and weird. Louis also mentioned something about loosing his love to judgment and hatred, but Harry was at loss of what to make if it. Louis sounded so odd when he spoke sometimes.

    Harry wasn't sure when it started or why he didn't object to it, but out of nowhere there came a morning when Louis picked up one of the two jumpers Harry had packed, and put it on. It truly was the strangest thing, because Harry liked it on Louis. It didn't fit precisely, but it was endearing nevertheless. The cuffs would cover his knuckles and irritate him when he was doing something. Harry couldn't help but notice such things, the little things that made the tan skin look more edible, the caramel hair a little more potent. It was strange to Harry.

     The lad with curls sat on the bed with his back against the headboard. He was alone in the cabin because Louis had decided to take a swim in the ocean right outside. Harry thought he'd take advantage of this decision.

      He pulled his laptop to him and opened a folder of... arousing photos. He hadn't done this in a while. Harry now wished he'd downloaded pornos while he was getting the other films. Of course he couldn't have known that he'd need to download _that_ but now he just wished he'd done it. He usually streams porn. Now pictures would have to do.

    He slid his excited hands beneath the elastic band of his shorts after rubbing them against each other to generate a little heat. He sighed in relief to finally let the stress and tension flow out of him. He stroked himself to the sight of a slender male in a compromising situation, accompanied two other, larger males. All three were rather attractive, but they failed to satisfy Harry correctly. He altered their faces and builds in his mind. He closed his eyes and let that image act as his foundation to a fantasy that made dark stains bloom over his apples. He felt feverish and dirty, imaging himself in the situation where his submission played the lead. Where there was a dangerous dominance swimming in the oceans of the two males hovering over his open body. Where pink lips were a swollen, deep red. Harry caressed the skin of his penis under the head; the sensitive skin that staggered his breathing. He dragged the foreskin up over the edge pulled down along his length. It was red and the purple veins were visible. Harry moaned as he repeated the action several times, each motion revealing the delicious colour of his taut erection. Precome was leaking from the tip of his arousal and he used it to lubricate his fingers' glide.

    It felt so damn good. The room was filled by his small pants and hitches in his inhalation. At some points he couldn't even keep the lewd sounds from escaping his bitten lips. The laptop had fallen to his side and he made no effort to retrieve it. The fantasies playing behind his lids were the essence of aphrodisiac nature, brewed together with the most lubricious thoughts adolescent years often bring. Just as his fingers applied pressure to that sensitive spot, he groaned loudly and the creaking of the door went unnoticed. Harry, sweating, heated and _dirty_ with his fingers around his erect cock, was what met Louis as he entered the cabin, saltwater dripping from his hair. His eyes widened as he comprehended the image before him. His own penis awoke at the sight. He should probably turn around and wait outside until Harry was done. But how could he? Harry, _his_ Harry, was displayed to him in a way he could only recall from distant memories. How many times had he not dreamt of this since? Actually, what's to say this isn't another dream?

   Harry's eyes caught Louis' frozen frame and in an instant his gaze became even more clouded. "...ngh ah, _Lou_... aah."

   Okay, yes. This was most definitely a dream. And if it was just a dream, it wouldn't hurt if he engaged in the activities.

    Louis threw his towel aside as he approached the sultry youth, splayed over his covers, hot and heaving. Louis ran his fingers along Harry's legs while climbing atop the bed. Harry watched him through hooded eyes and increased the speed of his hand's movements. Suddenly his body tensed and twitched and he let out a loud sound of pleasure as he released his semen over Louis' face. Harry's eyes had screwed shut and now that he opened them, he was taken aback by Louis' appearance. Louis' hands were on his thighs and and while he was a little wet from from his swim, white liquid was also dripping from his face. Some of it was in his hair and slowly sliding down his cheekbone. White drops hung from the bottom lip of Louis' open mouth, dangerously close to falling to the sheets. Harry felt horrified at what had just taken place, now that he could think with his head and not his penis. He was anxious for Louis reaction as he didn't want things to be awkward, but Louis' expression was unreadable. He wondered if it was too late now. They stared at each other for what felt like hours and when Louis' silence remained intact, Harry felt panic rise.

   "I am-I'm sorry!" he said for lack of knowing what to say. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing," Harry whispered while covering his face with his sticky palms. His cheeks were so high in temperature against his skin.

   "Uhm... I think I need to take a shower," Louis' shaky voice reached his ears. Louis moved off the bed and walked dazedly, to the tiny bathroom. He closed and locked the door before looking at his reflection in the mirror.

    "It wasn't a dream," he whispered as he studied Harry's sperm on his features with wide eyes. "It was not a dream."

    Harry heard Louis start his shower after a minute or two, but it was a minor fact registered in Harry's mind as he was mentally battling himself at the moment. He had no idea what he would do once that shower ended. What he would say. He could just apologise for what happened and promise to never allow such a thing again. But did he really want that? What did he want? He could ask what Louis thought of it. If Louis was willing maybe they could... start something?

    But he was Harry's _captor_. His _abductor_. Wasn't that like, just wrong?

    But he was also keeping Harry captive for his well being. Which was rather sweet.

      What was Louis' intentions though? He didn't _have_ to save or protect Harry.

_So why did he?_


	9. Teil Acht

**_W_** _hen_  Louis emerged from the bathroom he was already dressed and he looked slightly uncomfortable, like he was stalling and didn't know what to say. Harry watched him from the bed, also a bit uncomfortable. They both wore deep blushes and at last Louis announced that the fridge was emptying so he'd drive to Tesco in order to refill the shelves. Harry was both disappointed and relieved. Louis grabbed his car keys from the dresser and was just about to walk out the door when he hesitated, inhaled deeply and turned around before saying:

  "Uhm, eh, Harry, I just thought I'd say that um, I wasn't opposed to what happened earlier. So, yeah, I wouldn't mind it happening again... and maybe taking things further than that, I don't know. I mean it depends on what you feel." Louis left quickly without waiting for a reply.

  Harry sat there, stunned, with his heart galloping faster than a wild stallion. Louis wanted to do those sorts of things again? With Harry? That thought made him frown a little. Had he kidnapped Harry to be some kind of sex-toy? A little part of Harry didn't necessarily mind that too much, but still. Although, if Louis had been after Harry's body from the start, wouldn't he have claimed it already? His heart stuttered a little at the thought of cuddling with Louis and drinking two-in-the-morning-tea with him. Walking by the beach in the soft light of a dying sun. He wanted to stare into the depths of Louis' oceans for hours. And somehow the thought of losing Louis was even more terrifying than the fact that there were dodgy after him.

  How had this become his life?

  An hour after Louis departure to the store, Harry had eaten a bowl of cereal and was now bored out of his mind. He had his laptop with several films available to him, but he didn't want to sit and watch a screen. Harry flung himself down on the bed and stared up at the stone ceiling, wondering how long he would've lasted had he been on his own. Probably not very long. Harry thought of his family as his eyes traced the dark corners where ceiling touched wall. What did they think happened to him? Were they looking for him? Did they miss him? Harry's gaze rested on the old fashioned chest atop the wardrobe. He wasn't usually the type to snoop around but right now, Harry was filled with a strange curiosity to know more about Louis and well, he wasn't here at the moment, now was he? Harry simply had to find out some things on his own. That is what he told himself while standing up and reaching for the chest. He could not pick it up from his position as the material was a heavy, dark wood. He reasoned that he would probably need a chair or stool so he could get a better grip on it.

  Louis returned during the fruitless search for the piece of furniture and Harry had no choice but to suppress his curiosity. Louis was carrying two grocery bags in each hand and his face pleaded with Harry to relieve him of some of it. Harry scurried over and took two of the four bags from Louis' blue fingers. They had gotten a slight blood shortage, poor things.

  They spoke casually while unloading the goods into the fridge and cupboard.

  They had a system.

  Harry was responsible for the stuff that were in need of lower temperatures, so he was seated on the floor. And his job was also also to hand Louis the stuff that'd go into the cupboard, meaning Louis stood. Now, perhaps it could seem a tad unpractical for the taller lad to be sitting on the floor where his height was of no use, when the other had to stretch and stand on his toes to put something on the highest shelf. Yes, very unpractical, but for Harry it was rather pleasant conditions. A very pleasant view. And Louis never suggested for them to switch places, so Harry kept enjoying in silence.

  Louis told him about and old granny at Tesco who had scolded her grandson for wanting a doll; she wouldn't accept a faggot as her grandchild. He was obviously upset about it and Harry just really wanted to hug him. He was frowning cutely with a crease between his eyebrows, disturbing his otherwise smooth face.

  "I  _hate_  sexism, and homophobia and racism and- and every other belief that values some people above others," he muttered as he shoved a can of beans next to one of crushed tomatoes. "I'm aware that it used to be worse, but it seems people are using that as an excuse to not actively do something about it today. I'm fed up!"

  He stormed out of the kitchen even though he wasn't finished. But it was alright, Harry put in effort for the both of them.

  When he was done he followed Louis' earlier steps to find the lad sprawled over the bed and glaring at the ceiling. Harry sat down next to him and when Louis showed no sign of acknowledgement, Harry's heart took a daring leap as his hand found Louis' fringe and it fluttered in his chest when he felt how soft the hair was. Harry's breath trembled as he said, "You're quite cute when you're pissed, so that's a plus."

  Harry blushed when Louis' oceans caught him and he realised how stupid it sounded. Like, was it a plus for Louis? Or did he now reveal that he thought a lot about how cute Louis was?

  He blushed deeper and deeper and Louis found it so infinitely adorable. And he couldn't control his arms anymore, they just hugged Harry's middle and then his face was buried in Harry's shirt. It smelled nice; it smelled of Harry.

  He sat up properly and moved his arms to around Harry's neck. There was a look in Harry's eyes; a look of clear honesty, openness and hope. His eyes were so round and this moment felt infinite and every one of Harry's lashes contributed exquisitely. Louis was so profoundly in love, and that gave him the boldness to lean in closer. He brushed his lips tenderly against Harry's and with that gentle pressure to his mouth, he dared not to move a muscle in fear that even his faintest breath would endanger the fragile state of the moment. A flutter of his lash could shatter the magic that made his blood pump with an increased frequency.

  It wasn't exactly a kiss, more a touch of skin against skin, and when Louis pulled back a few centimetres he wasn't brave enough to open his eyes. His cowardice had taken a needle and sewn his eyelids together, discouraging him to see the reaction of his fleeting moment of bravery.

  Among the things he had thought possible, was not the scenario that played out. Harry's voice was barely a whisper when he muttered the swallowed curse, and Louis could almost hear how furrowed his eyebrows were.

 _"Fuck it,"_  was like a ghost over the thin skin of Louis' lips. Harry's arms snaked around his waist and with a determined, forceful kiss, Harry pushed Louis down on the bed and the next thing the older could comprehend was Harry's weight on top of him,  _straddling_  him.

  He stared at Harry with wide eyes, whose face was cast in shadow by the unruly curls. Louis could detect the slight shade of embarrassment on his cheeks, though.

  The moment Louis felt Harry's hot, wet tongue against his lips, Harry pulled back and looked him in the eyes with a wild strain to the muscles around his lower lash lines.

  "I'm sorry, Lou," his voice was so rough, Louis could feel the friction against his hardening penis. "I cannot help myself, I-I  _need_ \- you're irresistible."

  Louis face ignited in a way that was so foreign to him; it was a distant echo of all those years ago. His gaze and better judgement were clouded over by desire and his thoughts were so jumbled, he barely managed to breathe out " _Then don't resist_ ," against Harry's lips.


	10. Teil Neun

**_T_** _hey_ spent the day in bed, talking and listening to the rain against the windows and drinking several cups of tea. Harry enjoyed it a lot, everything seemed so easy and simple with Louis, though they really weren't. At some point during the darker hours one of them became horny and so the other followed. It was a lustful night, and they settled comfortably against each other when sated and content.

The next day copied the simple pattern.

It was early afternoon when Harry felt a sudden inspiration to watch Wall-E and told Louis as much. "I have it on my laptop. Want to watch it with me? We can make it a proper film night. Do we have any snacks?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. Should I pop by the store and get some? I'm pretty sure we're short on anything unhealthy."

Harry pouted. "Can I come with you this time?"

"No, Harry. For your own safety you must stay here," Louis reprimanded fondly. Harry then latched onto Louis in a manner which resembled that of a baby koala.

"Then we mustn't have snacks," Harry whined. "I'd much rather have you here now than eat crisps later tonight."

"Hah, don't be ridiculous, Harold," Louis said while laughing at Harry's endearing expression.

"Oh, but I am!" he cried and kissed all the parts of Louis he could reach. The other giggled and melted Harry's heart a little bittle.

"Okay, but only a few alright? I want you back here within twenty minutes! Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Louis answered and punctuated his exclamation with an abrupt kiss to Harry's nose. They both knew that to the store and back took more than twenty minutes. Louis' stripped out of his underwear and dressed in new ones along with trousers, t-shirt and Harry's slouching hoodie. And after they'd shared a romantic cup of yorkshire tea, Louis grabbed his keys and wallet before diving at Harry for a deep kiss. "I really l-like you, Harry," Louis stumbled verbally, but Harry only giggled affectionately. "I like you too, Lou." His smile broadened when he noticed how ridiculous it sounded, what with all the rhyming.

A small kiss goodbye and the Louis' smile was on the outside, leaving Harry to his solitude. And thoughts. He couldn't really understand or identify his feelings toward Louis, as his rational mind told him all of the ones he was experiencing were the opposite of what he ought to feel. He shouldn't be enjoying his own kidnapping, right? Well, to be fair he hasn't been mistreated or shoved in a dark basement in chains. Which is better than other people's kidnapping conditions. So his feelings toward Louis aren't as unreasonable as those who fall for their kidnapper after having been abused and isolated. Harry has read about those cases, and with that knowledge he doesn't feel as absurd for crushing on Louis. He'd been treated well enough, hadn't he? And Louis was very pretty and very kind.

Of course, in the beginning Harry had tried to think of an escape-plan; something along the lines of sneaking out in the night and take Louis' car. Witch meant he couldn't escape while Louis was at the store because well, it's hard to get away from the hill on foot.  
He'd have to walk really far just to meet a single living soul.

Whenever these thoughts bloomed dangerously, he'd remember the fake doctor and all the notions of escape drifted with the wind over mountains and seas.

Besides, Louis is a kind person and Harry is not shoved in a dingy basement, so.

Harry prepared his laptop with the film on pause, ready for Louis' return. Then he sighed and looked out the window at the sun's last rays of colour staining the stray clouds. Harry would paint those clouds of he could paint. But he could not.   
His gaze wandered to the bookshelf and thought of all the stories it held; of all the adventures stacked together. Hardbound against pocket.

He wondered if there had ever been written a story of a lad who disappeared to be protected.  
He shook his head with a small smile.

Silly.

His eyes caught sight of the chest atop the wardrobe, and the suffocated flame of curiosity kindled anew. He felt guiltier this time around as his affections had grown since last.But it wasn't enough to make him leave the mysterious chest alone.

He was more determined this time. Enough to clear the bedside table of knick knacks in order to reach around the chest with the entire lengths of his arms. The table wasn't precisely stable so when he heaved the heavy wood over the wardrobe's edge, he fell to the floor with the chest luckily hitting the carpet next to him; the only bruising he suffered was thus solely from the fall. Ignoring the temporary pain, Harry sat up and pulled the dark wood to him.

His hands danced over the surface, dusting the grey particles away to reveal the deep brown of the wood; the shifting hues of the fibres.

With bated breath his hands slowly gripped the lid and lifted. His ears pointedly noted every noise outside the house, in case Louis were to come back early. Harry didn't want to be caught snooping through his stuff.

Inside the rectangle were several rolls of parchment, a pale beige licking all their sides from time's tongue of age.

Holding his breath, Harry reverently plucked up a roll with shaking fingers. With gentle movements he unrolled the paper only to drop it from shock of the sketch on its surface.

"What-" he breathed and picked up the paper again. There, as clear as a piece of glass, was his face drawn onto the parchment in talented lines of graphite. Every stroke conveyed Harry's facial features brilliantly; the shadows of his broad smile played along his jaw and pooled in his dimple. There were harsher lines along his clothes and hair, as it seemed the artist had gotten tired and couldn't put as much intricacy or detail into the things that were out of focus anyway. Then Harry noticed that the clothes in the picture didn't follow the rules of contemporary fashion; the shirt looked like a blouse, slightly flowing around his shoulders. Was it archaic undergarments? It looked like a picture from a history book, except it was _his_ face. It was _Harry's_ face. Thoughts of Louis being his stalker flashed through his mind for a moment, but dissolved when Harry read the date of the piece.

_LT 16th of May 1518_

What the hell? That didn't make any sense. It was Louis' work, yes but that date was ridiculously impossible. He searched through the rest of the drawings; all of him. And all were dated during the sixteenth century. The paper _looked_ old enough... but certainly they weren't from five hundred years ago? That would make Louis unspeakably old. But... it just couldn't be! Harry was _not_ that old, that is a fact and his birth certificate could prove it, if not his own memory.

At the bottom of the chest he found a thick, parchment bound book, which he lifted it out tenderly. In case it would fall apart. The pages were brittle and on them were neat words that Harry had trouble deciphering.

_18 APRIL 1517_

_The skye was darke to-day and I did not paynt. I am certayn day after sholde be bet Therefore I shal rede to-day and reeding is goode._

_26 APRIL 1517_

_I doon not lyke paynting peeple Their feyses are missing - nat complete. A familie of marchauts axed for a portayt, but I answerde no. I will not paynt for others no longer. I sholde paynt for meself._

_30 JUNE 1517_

_Loo what sholde I doo? my families welth is runin drye. I vnderstand I need to paynt for others agayn f I want to keep me dome. Or vndertayke a nother proffeshon. I am not moche goode atte other tihngys. A cook perraps? I rekkon I coud frye eyren Or bren theym. I realy donot ken what I can do._

_27 JULY 1517_

_He is megnificent. I found hym by a broken boat atte shore, And when he opened his eien I kenned that I wolde paynt agayn. I would paynt hym. His byutie is that of other wights of other worlds, and me ey will follow hym whairever he goeth._

That's when Harry started reading hungrily; the journal picking his interest. He had a slight difficulty understanding everything as it was evidently written the year it was dated, but he caught the overall meaning. The writer was a painter who ha lost inspiration because he felt people's faces incomplete? But then he had found a boy who had ignited that inspiration again. Harry continued reading and discovered that the writer called the boy _'Arry_ , which okay. It awakened a weird feeling inside Harry, he didn't exactly know what to think of it besides it being a very creepy coincident. The two lads, the writer and _'Arry_ engaged in some sort of relationship, albeit it was not exactly ideal as it was illegal. They had to constantly hide in fear of being executed.

Harry read about their love and his heart contracted painfully at their strife. The writer had written several beautiful poems about the boy's green, green eyes and brown curly hair which Harry neglected any deeper thought to.

What he gathered of their story was that one night, the lad, Harry, had woken up crying heavily and clutching at the other lad's shoulder's in their shared bed. His tears wouldn't stop and when the writer asked him what the matter was, he cried harder, the salt glimmering down his puffy cheeks. The older of the two tried to comfort and console, he kissed the cheeks, the mouth, the tears. He told him that he loved him and that everything was going to be alright. At that, Harry's eyes focused on Louis' face with a grim look in them. "No," he choked out. "Nothing will be alright," Harry threw himself against the bedding with his face buried in his arms. When Louis touched his shoulder blade, he sat up again, quite abruptly. "I'll be hanged, I'll be hanged , Louis!"

"No, sweetheart. No one knoweth about us."

"But they will. And I will be dead - and thou..." his sob cut off his sentence. "Thou shalt not be slain, however thou will live a long, long life. Thou will weep and mourn, and thou will ne'er be able to end that misery. I would ne'er want that for my love. Please do not let it be true!"

"Shh, Harry love, gather thyself. It was merely a bad dream, all right? Nothing to be afraid of," Louis soothed and stroked Harry's curls in an attempt to calm the boy enveloped in grief.

As it was however, the boy's words had been true and they was executed only three weeks later, as they had been spotted sharing a private moment by one of the villagers.

They stood before the village on the wooden platform awaiting their imminent fate. They looked at each other and mouthed _'I love thee'_ s before a guard forced their faces forward to thread each of their heads through a noose. A single tear traced Harry's cheek as Louis gripped his hand tightly, which made sounds of displeasure erupt through the crowd. The high priest stepped before them and asked them to confess their sins in their last moments. Louis' face screwed up and his mouth let out the foulest curse he could conjure up, making the priest clutch the part of his chest over his heart in an offended gesture. And with that a man stepped forth to announce their names and crimes. And all the while, Harry could only hear his pulse pounding at his temples, feel the pain in his lip where he bit upon it in his nervousness.

This was it, his last moments. He was to die here before a crowd that hated his guts for have fallen in love. With that, more tears fell. And then the wooden boards underneath him disappeared and -

Harry blinked several times to clear his vision of tears. None of that had been written in the journal. That was a memory as clear as the memory of last meal's taste. But it made absolutely no sense. He couldn't place that memory in the time line with the rest from his life. But that dream he had had...?

Nothing made sense. The two things he knew for certain was that he had been there, in 1518 and that he was madly, irrevocably in love with Louis. The picture in his lap felt heavy as he valued it as proof of both parts. He pushed all his thoughts aside to continue reading.

Then suddenly, he heard Louis car in a distance, and he hastily tried to pack all the drawings back in the chest but the door swung open before he could get it on top of the wardrobe. Where it had been when Louis had left. Shit.


	11. Teil Zehn

**_T_** _he_ aisle stacked with chocolate was where Louis spent most of this grocery trip. He found cookies too, with creamy frosting as their filling. Two bags of crisps and garlic dip. Or maybe not garlic. Harry might not want to kiss him then, if they would be doing that sort of thing of course, heh. They might do more? Louis could only hope. His heart was buoyant with anticipation and he couldn't have paid the cashier any quicker. With the unhealthy articles stacked in the backseat, Louis hastily drove from the parking lot. It'd be still another twenty-five minutes before he'd see Harry (twenty, if he was willing to bend a few speed limits), but his heart beat faster by every kilometre of road he covered. He was practically jumping in his seat when he drove through the small patch of woods where the road was very lumpy (which was probably what caused the jumping).

Soon he would be there! And they would cuddle in bed, watching children's films and eating foods pleasant to the tastebuds. They would share kisses (perhaps, if Harry wanted) and warm their toes on each other.

Louis was humming when he killed the engine and locked the car with the grocery bag in hand. He trudged up the steps to open the door when he noticed it was ajar, the slight breeze pushing it softly, like a small child on a swing. It looked so peaceful, yet it planted a seed of dread in Louis' gut. Hesitantly he pulled the door open and looked inside, where everything was quiet and still.

Harry wasn't there. It was clear that no one moved within the cabin's walls. It was too quiet; even for a visit to the loo. Had he run away? Had he tricked Louis into thinking they were falling in love again so he couldn't predict Harry's escape?

His eyes caught the door that led to his glass dome, the art studio that he hadn't used in so long. He crept closer to the thick, rough wood and put an ear against its fibres. He could hear harsh voices and the cry of a baby through the door's gauge. _What on earth?_

Swiftly, he tip-toed to the kitchenette and drew a kitchen knife from one of the drawers, hiding it about his person. Then, back at the door, he creaked it open to get inside unnoticed. However, someone with thick boots and dark trousers were standing at the opening, so as soon as Louis touched the door, he was violently yanked inside by the bulky man. He was very ugly and when he held Louis in the air before him, Louis could feel his foul breath and fought a gag.

"Eiya lads! Ain't this the faggot?" he roared and Louis wouldn't be surprised if he would die that instant.

Louis hear his muffled name to the right and looked over. Harry, _his Harry_ , was strapped to a chair, tied by both arms and legs with duct tape over his lips.

When he saw Louis he struggled and cried, trying to free himself.

"Harry, no!" Louis tried to fight the man holding him but it proved impossible.

_They got him._

He head butted the thug and managed to get three steps closer to Harry, before another brute tackled him to the marbled floor. "Aye, it's him alright," the second man breathed in Louis' ear.

 _They got him_.

Louis should have seen it coming, moved them to a more remote and secure location. They should have moved to another continent!

_And now the have him._

Louis was pulled upright and by his hair dragged to the side, next to a South Asian man with impeccable symmetry to his facial bones' structure.

This though, was a fact Louis might have noticed had they not been in such a critical condition. Next to the man a woman stood with what seemed to be their child clutched to her chest. The baby cried and the mother tried to soothe its distress while held at gunpoint by one of the perpetrators. There was a total of four, one holding Louis, another with his gun directed at the mother, one keeping the asian's thick dark hair in a firm grasp.

And finally one keeping Harry at gunpoint. Harry, as he tried to breathe with the tape over his mouth, filling his lungs with only his nose. How could this have happened to him? What had he done? What could these men possibly gain from capturing the people Harry held dear? Perrie, Zayn and baby Clara. And now _Louis_. They hadn't done anything wrong. Is this Harry's fault? They have to suffer like this because of him?

Harry breathed vigorously, his nostrils flaring and his heart leaping against his ribs. A drop of sweat traced his temple.

_What had they done to deserve this?_

The skin on his wrists were raw from the restraints holding them in place; he tried continuously to free himself. His attempts were futile.

His eyes sought Louis' and when their gazes locked, Harry thought he detected something like regret and guilt in Louis' deep oceans. He then hid his face in shame of failing to protect. Harry didn't blame him, and Harry wanted him to know that.

"Now, let's see just how deeply ye care for these people," said the man holding Perrie at his gun's mercy. He gave Harry a taunting look before turning to her shaking form. Baby Clara wailed into her mother's neck, seeking comfort from her. She was really a beautiful daughter, Clara was. A magnificent mix of dark and bright. Her small head was protected by Perrie's strong hand, even though her knees were threatening to buckle; she forced herself to be strong for Clara. Scattered particles of black mascara were visible around her wide eyes and down her cheeks. Her hair looked even worse.

"I reckon we should shut the lass up."

With a sideways smirk, the bulky man pressed the trigger and the bullet cut through the air, also effectively cutting off Perrie's initiated scream. She didn't need to scream, Zayn managed for them both. It was the strangest feeling, Harry's numb mind concluded, the sound of a man who lost everything in the blink of an eye.

He faintly wondered how scientists would explain the impossible feeling of being shredded with a blunt pair of scissors, from only hearing a sound. Vibrations in the air. Particles that shifted, or so as to push all the pain Zayn felt, into Harry through his ears. Harry watched unbelievingly as a flower of scarlet bloomed through the cotton of little Clara's jumpsuit. Perrie fell to her knees, and as if it wasn't enough - as if having to make sure - the man fired another three bullets at Perrie, each one making her body jerk violently. Clara's lifeless form fell from her arms and unto the floor with a loud thud that would have damaged the child, had there been any life left to damage. Perrie's corpse fell over her daughter's and a dead arm dropped around the tiny body in an unintentional embrace that neither could feel.

Zayn stared, a horrified expression frozen on his face as tears flowed uncontrollably from his eyes.

Harry fought against his restraints, panic seizing his erratic heart while his eyes too, filled with tears.

He tried to shout through the tape, cry out, scream till their ears bled.

Futile.

A growing puddle of deep scarlet soaked Perrie's platinum hair and Clara's darker locks to flat strands against the ivory stone beneath.

And Zayn stared.

He couldn't seem to grasp it. He looked on, unfocused, unseeing.

When the puddle had grown enough for him to glimpse his own reflection on the liquid's surface, something snapped inside him. He jerked away from the man's grasp on his hair and elbowed him firmly between his thighs, loosing the man's fingers from his hair. The man cupped the remnants of his family jewels with a loud painful groan. Zayn scarcely had time to stand up before another shot was fired and his brain matter decorated the crouching man's scrunched up face.

Zayn joined his family on the marble.  
Harry couldn't see much through the waterfalls that refused to cease.

_Zayn too?_

This was cruelty on such a raw level it seemed fair of the universe if the men just left and Harry could grieve in peace. As if mocking him, his mind provided him with the memory of Louis telling Harry he had done the right thing, lying to Zayn to protect him. Obviously, that was not what he had done.

The man in front of Harry approached him, leisurely toying with his gun and a smirk stretching his greasy skin. Louis fought against his captor with panicked eyes when the smirking man stroked Harry's cheek with the lethal weapon. Harry retaliated as the cold metal bathed in his tears. The thug then ran his sluggish looking tongue over the barrel's side, licking at Harry's liquified sorrow.

"I dunno if it werked," he mumbled to himself. The other gunman's eyes gleamed suddenly.   
"Only one wey to find out, eh?" He then fired his gun at his comrade, showing no remorse for taking lives left and right. His target staggered at the impact, then smiled triumphantly when he found his footing.

He wasn't dead. He survived a bullet to the chest.

His victory over death was short lived, though. His smile faded as he fell to the marble. He died within moments.  
The live gunman watched on with a bored expression.

"I see; I reckon we must 'ave be'er imagination if we wish to succeed, lads. No worries, we can get creative," his lips stretched into a grim and greedy smile, of characteristics that belonged to Harry's childhood nightmares.

"Oh, Roger?" he called pleasantly over his shoulder to the man gripping Louis' person.

"Aye, chief?"

"Why don't ye show the faggot a piece of his wildest fantasy? We'll let his princess watch."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm when he caught wind of what was about to happen.

The man, Roger, looked reluctant at the request but obliged rather eagerly after seizing Louis up a few times. It was undeniable that even in the eyes of a straight man, Louis was one of agreeable appearance.

Louis himself looked rather terrified, pale face and wide eyes, his jaw set in stone. Still so beautiful.

Roger, with help from the third thug removed Louis' trousers - not without difficulty. Louis struggled against them, screaming at them to stop. Roger's dirty fingers left faint trails of filth on Louis' thighs where he gripped the flesh to hold his victim still.

Harry fought. He thrashed all he could and there was a wild look in his yes.

 _Harry wanted to protect Louis with his life and body_.

Having another man's hands on his lover's skins awakened a bull-like rage in the pit of his stomach. It burned like a nation-consuming fire, engulfing him, enveloping him. Smoke puffed faintly and the smell of scorching leather reached his nose. He glanced down and discovered that the leather holding his right wrist was charred and brittle, revealing unmarked skin underneath. He pulled his hand free, with ease snapping whatever little was holding the leather band together. He quickly ripped the tape off his mouth.

"Louis!"

The sound caused by his exertion caught the attention of both Louis and 'chief', who looked shocked at the revelation of Harry's liberated hand. "Wha's this, princess? yer feeling like joining in?" He came closer.

With his back turned, Louis got exactly what he needed. Swiftly he produced a kitchen knife from somewhere about his person. Quickly and efficiently he angled the blade upward with the tip pressed under Roger's sternum. He then proceeded by sinking the blade fluidly into Roger's lung. Avoiding ribs and such expertly.

Roger, caught completely by surprise flailed feebly a few times before dropping to his knees. Without wasting anymore time on him, Louis swivelled around to plunge his knife in the other man's throat. Poor tosser had been too slow. Louis slipped into his trousers within the blink of an eye as the last thug at Harry's chair drew a dagger out of his left boot and launched himself at Louis. He dodged, but wasn't quick enough and the blade slashed open a thin wound on his cheek, a single tear trailing from its edge. It was a vivid crimson in contrast to his pallid face.  
He was determined though, and bloody focused. So when the other man made to swing his arm again Louis dodged more gracefully and pushed the man's armed hand away with the budge of his shoulder blade - this gave him open access to the man's chest. Louis knew better than to try his luck with ribs again so instead he plunged his kitchen knife in the man's gut. He grunted painfully and looked down disbelievingly at the handle poking out of his stomach. Then his anger rose its head at having been struck, it was clear he considered it a failure on his part.

His rage provided him with adrenaline and with his empty hand he grabbed Louis shoulder. Then his neck. Or more precisely, the hair at the nape of his neck. Louis thrashed against the strong grip without accomplishment. Then, so fast Harry could barely comprehend a dying man could pull such a move, the brute planted his dagger in Louis throat with a roar of victory and a cry of devastation from Harry.

Apparently he wasn't done there, because he slashed the blade around, determined on beheading Louis.  
" _No, no - oh what are you doing, please no, I couldn't - please I couldn't live, no, no_ ** _please_**!" Harry repeated incoherently as more and more blood adorned the marbled floor. The man took hold of Louis' hair and pulled with manic force, tearing whatever skin and tissue was left connecting Louis' head to his body. It finally snapped and his head flew through the air from the force of it. The man collapsed in his exhaustion, heaving with a mad look in his eyes.

Harry stared as his love's severed head rolled over the stone to rest before him. Louis blue oceans stared emptily at Harry.

Harry had heard once, that even after a head is parted from its body, the eyes and brain can still comprehend its surroundings a brief while after it has been severed. It dies once there is not enough blood or oxygen left in the head.

Harry wondered if what Louis saw last was Harry's face, would he be happy? Or would he have preferred someone else as a last sight?

Harry hoped Louis had seen how much Harry truly loved him.

Harry was now alone.

Alone in a room of eight corpses, tied to a chair.

And he cried, shaking.

He couldn't stop. He didn't try to stop. The tears flowed out of him, as did any will of living. He didn't care anymore.

There was nothing left to live for.

_And so there is no more of this story, as to Harry, nothing mattered any longer._


	12. Epilogue

**_H_** _arry_ did not go to the funeral.

He could not.

He could not watch the faces of all the people who knew Louis better and could share stories and memories about him that Harry had just never heard. Let alone been present to.

On the day of the funeral, Harry sat on his bathroom floor as he did every morning, and weighed all the pros and cons. He had grown rather tired of this internal battle and the arguments were sagging, as well as sounding less and less credible - even in his head.

Before him lay three objects, each of which he had obtained through both difficult and careful means.

A gun, a bottle of pills and a noose.

He would divide his time equally over them to observe and think of them. He would weigh the pros and the cons of each specific way to go.

By the end of that day Harry had yet to come to a decision. You could call him lucky, being that indecisive as it kept him alive long enough for him to water a seed of courage. A week later of repeating this pattern he gathered up his scattered self and reluctantly headed to the cemetery with a pretty flower he had nicked from his neighbour. He knew this one was a flower Louis would've liked. It was pretty, in the same way Louis had been. But that's why Harry liked it, and Louis wasn't there to confirm any preferences. Harry didn't know the name of this flower, though. Which in a way was quite symbolic as Harry couldn't ever place Louis in a category where all the others would be just like him; Louis was too unique for a label, simply put.

He thought this flower was unique too and deserved that same honour of labellessness.

Standing before Louis' grave Harry watched as the wind beckoned the petals of his flower to dance with it. He managed a small smile when the petals declined and stayed persistently put. _'S something Louis would do._

The memory of Louis' face became more prominent in Harry's thoughts, as did the pain in his chest. He'd successfully accomplished feeling numb to mostly everything but, well, visiting Louis' tombstone wasn't included in the term 'everything'. A tsunami of helplessness washed over him and Harry again asked himself what he was still doing alive. He continued asking himself this as he crouched and gently placed the beautiful flower on the dirt covering Louis' body.

He plunked himself down and crossed his legs to be the most comfortable possible. Harry listened to the wind in the trees while his eyes followed the shape of Louis' name in the stone. It ached in him; the figurative knife in his chest twisted painfully because it didn't say 'Louis'. Engraved in the piece of rock before him was the name _William Alexander Roe_. The only reason Harry knew this was the right grave was because he had caught a glimpse Louis' license once. And this really made him wonder which of what Louis had ever told Harry about himself, had actually been true. He wondered a lot about Louis, what could've been between the two of them.

He cried a lot for Louis, saw him in his dreams, touching, kissing - only to wake up to the aching emptiness and the asinine dullness which encased his whole life opaquely. Often to distract him of thoughts about the life he could've had with Louis, he spent most of his time picturing his own death. His own ending. How someone would find him in the way he had staged, how they would call an ambulance, how sad his family would become when they heard the news, how they would stand around his grave, clothed in a shade equivalent to the pitch of their grieving souls, how they would make speeches and cry and Harry -

Harry would be free.

Harry didn't believe in a life after death, but sitting there beside the earth that had swallowed Louis' corpse, Harry couldn't help but close his eyes and imagine. Imagine a lifetime after this one, in which he could spend every waking hour with Louis, and with Zayn, Perrie and sweet baby Clara.

In his withered little heart, it was the only thing he desired, the only thing he would ever ask for. He would trade the world and all its people and creatures for another day in Louis' arms, heck even if it was just a minute. If that made him selfish then sure, guilty as charged. There was honestly nothing he would not do.

He gripped the hem of his beanie tightly and pulled down over his face when he felt the tears breaking through his lids and burning his cheeks. This was an ugly cry, he could feel it, and against his wishes, it was loud too. He sank his head to the ground, slamming his clutched fists against the dirt. And he cried, he cried so forcefully. Whatever patching up he had attempted on his heart was torn apart and the sobs rocked his body violently. His voice was unrecognisable as it ripped through the air with heartbreaking anguish.

"Wh-why!" he could not seem to stop asking himself this, _why?_ There has been so much mystery weaved throughout everything Louis ever said about the reason behind his kidnapping Harry and now he's **_dead-_**

"Nonono- why- aughhn - Louis why? How c-could such a th-thing happen? Lou- Louis, my _Louie_..."

Harry felt the drops of fire fall from his face to the earth. "I loveyousom-much aaah, I-I seriously don-don't know what I am gonna do with mys- self."

He continued to cry into the dirt and mutter incomprehensible things, trying to convey to the cold body of his dead love how much he really loved him. Harry was falling apart.

There were others. Other people who visited the graves of lost loved ones. They saw him, and they understood. Some were so moved they couldn't stop a tear from falling from their own eyes.

Harry didn't notice them, nor the passage of time. He lost track of how many tears he had shed, how many pieces of his heart had loosened and been flushed away with those tears.

The sun was setting when Harry finally looked up to the sky, the fountains having dried out some hours ago. His face felt swelled and was most likely very red. He decided then that he would never come here again, never visit again. It was important that he moved on; if he visited Louis' grave it would be harder to convince himself that it never happened. That it all was something meant to be forgotten; _erased._

He stood, with energy that he did not posses, and started walking slowly away through the rows of headstones.

Even though his retreating back failed to see it, the last of the sun's rays touched the dirt covering his Louis, and the dirt was _moving_. It really was an odd amount being disturbed as it was clearly larger than the size of regular earth worm.

Just as the sun set, two fingertips were visibly fighting their way out.


End file.
